Stretching the Moment
by TapTapAlways
Summary: She told him that he could use magic upon his hands to wield a scalpel once more. She told him the world would be all the poorer for it, if he did. She told him they would need that flexibility of his to survive. What if... he chose to be just that little bit more flexible than even she had known he could be? What if, he chose to wield a scalpel... for her? (An Alternative Ending)
1. In the Theatre

"Right!" The Doctors watched Doctor Strange with some trepidation. He had always been both a force of nature and more than a bit peculiar, but this was up there, even for his eccentricities. A moment ago he had been about to hit the floor, for a completely unknown reason, and now he was reaching for a scalpel, hands perfectly steady, walking up to their dying patient. They were losing her, quickly, and they needed to act fast, but if anyone could do it, it was him.

At least, without the nerve damage which had ended his career and seen him disappear, he had been the obvious choise. Not that there was any evidence of said nerve damage at all visible at the moment.

"Strange!" Doctor West protested, as Strange stepped up close to their patient. Their patient who had just flatlined, at that. "It is perfectly fine," Doctor Strange replied, letting Doctor Palmer continue what she was doing with the heartstarters without interfering. After less than a minute she stepped back, giving Strange room. When she reported on the patient's status, West noted with some resentment that she was talking to Strange and not to him. "She has a pulse but it won't last long."

"I won't need long," Strange replied, turning to the patient, setting the scalpel to where he needed to cut immediately. West looked at his hands as Strange started to work, quickly but securely, as if the man somehow knew just how long he had to work with. His hands were perfectly steady. Even though it had only been half a second, Strange's focus was perfect already. West had always envied that, though he'd never tell Strange as much, the arrogant sod.

West picked up on a strange look between Strange and Palmer, and that was all the warning they had before Palmer started to shoo them all away, as if Strange needed the OR all to himself and they weren't all as most useful where they were!

The argument lasted for perhaps three quarters of a minute, before Doctor Strange's voice cut them off. "It Is fine. Christine, will take over, please?" West found himself turning back abruptly at this, looking at how Strange put his scalpel away, hands once more trembling as they would for someone with his level of nerve damage. "You cannot possibly be done already!"

Strange just smiled, blinking at Christine. Then he left the theatre, and West didn't see him again for months.

* * *

The Cloak watched its new chosen Sorcerer attentively. The strange human, who insisted to be titled as "Doctor", not "Master", not even by the ancient human who knew so much, was washing his hands of blood as red as the cloak was itself.

It had not been allowed to come, not into that room where everyone wore strange robes in what the Cloak refused to even refer to as clothing, much less proper fabric.

Short as their partnership had been, the Cloak enjoyed the feeling of resting on this new chosen human's shoulders, but it had not minded being left behind, just this once. Strange, because that was his name, the Cloak gathered, the name of his new human, had put it down gently, and there had been no danger in the place he walked into without it. It did not insist on coming everywhere, not if there was no danger. It could guard him perfectly adequately from where he'd left it, for the time being. It would be guarding: humans were so fragile, they always needed plenty of looking after.

Now, though, after its own human had returned, and was through washing his hands and his arms in a rather odd fashion, in the Cloak's opinion, he was finally changing back into proper clothing which would actually keep him warm. Not to mention that, in the Cloak's opinion, there was such a thing as dignity to be upheld. It liked to give in to a little bit of dramatic effect and flair at times, too, and judging by how he'd studiously turn, when there was time for such indulgences, this young - still fairly arrogant and with a lot to learn - human was just the same. The Cloak liked this about him, too.

Dressed once more in decent clothing, the Cloak's human reached out for it, giving a very tiny smile, seemingly entirely in surprise, as it floated into his hand without him having to touch it. Giving it another one of those delightful, snappy movements, he helped it take its just position, folded around his neck and resting upon his shoulders. As it ought to be. Maybe, the Cloak thought, it had underrestimated him, just a little bit. This human clearly knew to what he belonged, at least. Not many humans did.

It swooped the edge of its high collar across high, elegant cheekbones, just to check, but they were perfectly smooth, almost cold, and entirely dry. The Cloak was amused when its human swatted at the fabric to make it go away. So young, so proud. Well, if the Cloak just got some time, it would make a great Sorcerer indeed of this human.

* * *

"That wound was one of the oddest ones I've ever seen," Christine noted, leaning against the wall of Strange's (apparent) favourite supply closet with her coffee, "and not just the way your wound was strange. Though that too." She smiled to him. Strange chuckled where he was leaning against the wall, letting his red cloak, which was apparently moving by itself, stroke across those sharp cheekbones of his. She sympatised with it - and you knew your life was crazy when you sympathised with a cloak - in this; she had frequently done so herself, back when she was still allowed to.

At the beginning of their conversation, going over the patient's status, Stephen had tried to make the Cloak stop caressing him, but he had given up a few minutes in, probably from forgetting it in his focus of matters at hand, as she knew that subbornness of his far too well to believe he had simply given up.

Their patient was going to live, they'd established that before he'd left the OR, but Christine had checked up on her where West continued what looked like it might be an extended surgery while Stephen changed back into looking utterly _unlike Strange_ , as it were. Christine was not quite sure how, exactly, their patient had made it through, except Stephen must have been brilliant again. That, and the mystery woman he had brought in dying from stab wounds must be stronger and more stubborn than anyone she'd ever treated before. Then again, maybe she was magical, too. Probably, actually.

"You can use magic to inflict harm upon someone, as you know," he nodded to her, repsonding to a question she'd almost forgotten she'd asked, in the middle of all her confusing thoughts. "I used some to help the healing process. I decided it was a good time to test out a hypothesis. I was right." Doctor Palmer rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything. As far as Stephen's arrogance went, this was not a case which even made it to the top ten list.

"And your hands," Christine stated with some worry, reaching out to take one. It said something, to her at least, about how much he had grown in the months they'd been apart, that he didn't try and stop her. The hand shook in her grip, but Stephen did nothing to hide it. It didn't seem to bother him. Maybe he was no longer quite so foolishly proud. She would not allow herself to hope, just yet, that he had finally grown up. All she knew was that he did not try to move away.

To the opposite, he came slightly closer to let her look. "I used magic to keep them steady. She told me how to do it, just before. In our astral forms," he added for an explanation. "Was that... why you almost fell?" He nodded in responce, his eyes unsually soft.

"Does it... hurt? To do that to your hands? You stopped when... well, as soon as you had stabilised her." Strange shook his head slightly. "She told my about a case I heard of when still living here in New York. The first time, I mean." He added with a smile to her, pressing down a little with his fingers, as she still held his hand. "While I... well, while I was falling."

"It was about a badly injured man who learnt how to walk again. He uses his arts to walk, so it can be done continuously. But I have better things to do with my magic!" He smirked at her, as she looked up from his trembling hand, seemingly to say that he knew himself that he was arrogant. From what she'd seen, maybe he had the right to be. Sometimes. A little bit.

"Must have been a short conversation," she said a little dryly, making him smile just as dryly back, repeating, it sounded like, someone else's words. "Time can be relative."

"Perhaps it can," she agreed, letting go of his hand and gently pushing him towards the wall by putting her palms against his shoulders. He had used to be very guarded of his space, arrogant in every aspect of his life, but now he let her, just somewhat nervously looking at her face, his eyes flickering between hers... and her mouth.

As he hit the wall, she smiled, bent closer, paused for a moment and then pulled away, backing up. "Maybe in your cult, but I am on call. I will see you around." With that, she smiled and walked out of the supply closet. She could hear him laugh behind her... somewhat to her surprise. Maybe, and she had not believed that for a long time, there was still hope for them.

Inside the supply closet, Doctor Strange chuckled for himself and adjusted his sling ring to open a portal. He had work to do.

 _Sometimes, I like to fix film endings, and when I saw this (wonderful) film, I saw something I knew I needed to make right. So stay tuned, and I shall do so._

 _No copyright infringement is intended._

 _TapTap_


	2. Brothers In Arms

He met Mordo in the New York Sanctum, for what was to be only a very brief counsel of war. While Mordo was still seething over the - in his mind, at least - betrayal by the Ancient One, Strange thought that he knew better, but there was no time to argue that point. Not now.

"They attacked New York twice," he noted, meeting the eyes of his brother-in-arms since several months now, though it had never been more important than it was now. It had certainly never felt more true, or more like an actual bond, either. It never would feel quite so whole, not ever again. "We know where they will go next." That was all he needed to say, so he did not waste time with more. "Hong Kong," Mordo's tone did not offer argument. They did not need words to say that they should go there, Stephen merely raised his hand and opened up a portal. They both knew, already. Talking was just a waste of time they did not dare to be wasting.

They stepped through the glowing circle together, Mordo letting the other Sorcerer - a Master now, as the Ancient One had named him the protector of this very Sanctum - step through it just ahead of him. Arrogant, he might have thought of him at first, but he also knew that the new member of their order - if there even was one now, as the Ancient One's lies had made him doubt everything they knew - was very resourceful. He could not think in the bold leaps this man beside him did, but he did not need to in order to respect the worth of that ability.

They were too late. They both knew it immediately as they stepped out into the street in Hong Kong. By mere moments and minutes, but they were too late. "No," Mordo whispered, staring straight ahead at the already incoming Darkness without a thought to the man next to him. He did not look to him for a solution, simply because there could be none. They had failed. Was this the price, then, for the betrayal, for _her_ unnatural practises? The very destruction of their _world_? What was there to do? Nothing, there was nothing left for him to fight against, not now.

He was not looking, but if he had, he would have noticed that Strange did not stare with him. _His_ eyes were full of motion, moving with speed as they were taking in not the distruction itself, but something of a _much_ wider meaning. Taking in _data_ , memorising how things must have looked and what _exactly_ had happened. _His_ eyes were still looking to _solve_.

If he had been focusing on Strange, he would have seen the harsh lines of his mouth as he thought at lightning speed, the quick, never-lingering energy of his eyes, the determination travelling throughout that man in waves, making the Cloak of Levitation flicker behind him independantly of the wind as it picked up on its mortal's agitation. If he had been looking, he would have known that _she_ had been right. Strange did not tolerate losing. He was afraid of failure, and this time, he was determined not to fail all the more, because he had decided to _protect_ , and he was both inordinately stubborn, and far more protective than he'd ever admit to.

Mordo had finally turned his head, not able to take seeing more of darkness rolling in, and watched in horror as Strange discovered he was still wearing the Eye and decided to rewind time, breaking the rules of _Nature_ itself almost as thoroughly as she had done. It was not natural, and it would doubtlessly come with a price. Mordo knew that. He tried to tell Strange as much, all the while dodging things which were flying back to their original positions as time moved further and further backwards, but the Doctor did not even pretend to listen to him.

If the Ancient One, who had more humour than Mordo possessed, had been there with them, she would have laughed when Strange brought Wong back to life while rewinding time, sending their enemies clean into rebuilding buildings as he did so, with a quick, "Yes I know, it is against the rules!"

Mordo found and looked at Strange through the mist and the sounds, the relentless dust of the battle theirs had lost and the semi-battle they were in engaged in even now, as if seeing the man for the first time. This _could not_ happen, they _could not let_ it happen, but it _had_ happened the in the first place because of _her_ actions, _she_ opened the way for this, and now Strange copied that recklessnes, that disrespect for everything they were _meant to_ uphold! The man was blinded, and Mordo did not even know by _what_.

Wong did not see it this way. He had failed. They all had, in defending the Sanctum, and now Strange gave them all a second chance. They could only hope that he did not break the balance they fought for while he did so, but they had been doomed now anyway, so what harm could he cause? He did not repeat the sloppy execution of the spell from the library, either, so the man had apparently learnt from his mistakes.

He was not, this time, breaking time, but merely rewinding it. Now Wong did not know if that might break it as well, having never tried, but in Wong's eyes, they had nothing to lose. Not now, not any more, not after another Sanctum had fallen. He settled in to fight again, this time alongside Strange, holding his weapon of choise with determination and hoping that the man had more clever ideas in that over-eager, arrogant, but so usefully creative head of his.

That was when an astral form joined them, pressing through the boundaries between the astral and the physical world with the ease displayed by only a great Master. Of course, the Ancient One was the greatest, supreme sorcerer there was, and though her body was broken, her spirit joined the battle with fierce force, working alongside Strange to send her old student Kaecilius flying and defending the Sanctum, time still reforming.

If anyone had had time to look, they would have noticed Strange duck below a flying car and make his decision, him recognising with clear reality through unresonable hope that this would only put off the inevitable. As it was, the comment about the timeless darkness was spoken without regard for how Strange heard it, and by the time they realised he was gone, they only saw his back as he went flying straight into Dormammu's realm.

 _I do not own Doctor Strange or any associated works, but reviews are love!_

 _TapTap_


	3. Battle in Every Dimension

The Ancient One had broken through the boundaries between the astral world and the physical, and she fought along with the rest of them, as fierce as anyone else in the battle, even though her body was still on the operating table.

Wong and several others, now brought back onto the battlefield as Strange's rewinding of time progressed, all seemed to allow her to cover their backs, but then most of them were likely still unknowing of what Strange and Mordu had discovered in the mirror dimension.

Mordo fought with them, determined as ever, but the Ancient One did not need her magical senses to see how he did no longer trust her. His heart was no longer quite with them, she could tell that much easily. But he _was_ still here, lending Strange his strength, even if it might well be the last time.

She sent one of her old pupil Kaecilius' apprentices hard enough into a wall to break their neck clean off, shouting out a warning for Wong to duck. Only moments later, it was Mordo who needed her help. When offered, it was grudgingly accepted, but nothing more.

She had not seen Strange for too long, and then she felt it. They all felt, saw or sensed it in some way, when he flew into the Darkness. She knew not what his plan was, but she believed in him. She'd told him, not many minutes ago, about where his key qualities lay, and she trusted him to show them. She had known for some time that they would need him, and they did.

* * *

Stephen Strange was not entirely certain he liked his own plan. When he repeated the same moment for the third time, repeating the same words, he had decided he didn't like it _at all_. By the twelfth time, he had stopped counting. When the count neared thirty, not that anyone kept it anymore, he felt like he was in pain even though his body was unharmed. As it passed thirty, his enemy gave up, finally willing to trade. He could only heave a great sigh in relief.

As he outlined his terms, he felt the Cloak flutter around him, though there was no wind here. How could there be, when there was no time?

The Cloak had gotten by unscathed entirely for most of the loops, and so he could only interpret the movement as sympathy. It had shown it before, outside the OR, and even before they'd gotten to know each other - if one could get to know a Cloak - it had fought beside him.

He gratefully left the dark dimension and returned to his own as soon as the deal was struck, landing in the middle of the fight, watching the Ancient One strike at Kaecilius from her astral form. He had to admire her skill. That was when Kaecilius felt the first pull from Dormammu - the dark being's power growing and starting to tug at him was clearly visible right from the start, if you knew what to look for.

Within seconds, the Ancient One's old pupil was visibly struggling with bonds he did not understand and could not see or grasp for, crying out as he saw Strange, now standing between Wong and Mordo again as the battle clinged off. "What have you done?"

"I made a trade. You should have stolen the entire book - the warnings come _after_ the spells," the Neurosurgeon advised somewhat unhelpfully. Kaecilius was picking up speed, pulled out of their sight, before he could hear Wong's laughter or see Strange's startlement at apparently having finally made a joke which worked for the librarian.

The next moment they found themselves standing in a peaceful street. At least it was peaceful in an otherworldly way, the only movements and sounds, plentyful as they were, coming from humans going about their usual business. Continuing to live their lives in peace, not knowing what they had just been safeguarded from.

* * *

They stood together in the street outside of the Hong Kong Sanctum, watching people go about their business as if nothing had happened, because in their world, nothing had. Thanks to Strange.

Mordo struggled with what Strange was telling him, with what he had done in this. So many rules broken, so many disrespects to what was both natural and _right_. The fact that the other man didn't show any remorse was not in his favour, and it was impossible to judge if it was arrogance or determination keeping him so steady in these moments.

"I cannot be a part of this any longer, I cannot support this," he settled, expecting Strange to try and defend himself, perhaps by lashing out, but he did not. "Then do not," the Doctor said instead. "I am aware of the risks, but it was the only choise I could find. I did what I had to and hope only I have to pay the price for it." "The Ancient One did as well, and her drawing power from there was what opened the door for Kaecilius to do this!" Mordo argued, too upset at this reneved betrayal to notice how calm Strange was. The man he had counted a brother not an hour ago. Now he did not know what they were. "That's what brought us here! She was not alone to pay that price!"

"I know. But you should stay and hear her explanation. She did what she thought she had to do, as did I. She did not wish to leave us with this! So she paid for her mistake, continuing in order to stay here and help us when the day to pay the price for it came! She said she hated it, and so did I when reverting time, but we did what we had to to protect..." "What both of you did was the very opposite of what we fought for! You're no different from him, neither one of you!" Mordo lashed out, loudly this time. "You've become the one thing you were resisting in the first place!"

"Maybe you're right," the Ancient One's astral form answered softly, appearing between them, managing to startle Mordo in his upset state. Strange took her appearance with more peace. "But maybe," she continued, voice still soft, the tone which had taught Mordo a thousand times, "you should consider how nature is full of harsh forces. Kaecilius was lost to us, he sook only gain for himself. I hated drawing power from the dark dimension, but I did what I had to to protect you. I did not tell you this, Mordo, because you need not carry every burden. And it was none of yours to carry. It belonged to me, me alone."

Her eyes, even without her corporeal ones to meet theirs, expressed a deep sadness. "Strange is full of imagination, and he needs your steadyness, like the falling water needs the steady stone not to fall too far and too hard and wreck harm upon the ground where it falls down. Sometimes we cannot do what we must without threading the line, and we need you there to pull us back, as we trust you to do. He knows this already, now it is time for you to see it too." Strange's silent, steady form, watching the exchange, offered no argument.

"I cannot..." Mordo choked out. This time it was Strange, coming closer to clasp a hand on his shoulder, who answered him. "Then go, if you have to go. But come back. I will be in the Sanctum in New York. Come and see me when you are ready." With that final promise, a promise he intended to keep, to come meet him, Mordo left them.

 _For those of you interested in Stephen's thoughts in canon or more Cloak, I have written that too. Reviews are always greatly appreciated and I try to respond to them all whenever possible. (Non-English and guest reviews can be hard)_

 _I kept wanting to write "Kaelicious" when attempting to spell Kaecilius' name. I haven't yet decided if that was funny, or outright annoying. Perhaps both. One thing is certain: it sounds_ considerably _less mystical! (Yes, I thought of the pop video too)_

 _I am not Marvel and do not intend to steal their stuff._

 _TapTap_


	4. Need You Here When I Cry

_I am not Doctor Strange and I do not own Marvel, oh, or the other way around!_

 _Also slight warning for this chapter: there be heartbreaking. (And also the writer's incomprehensible use of language, but that's only in the author's note. I hope.) The "feels" is the reason this chapter is so much shorter than the rest of them - I couldn't take any more!_

 _TapTap_

As Mordo became a retreating back, leaving them for an unknown amount of time, the Ancient One started to retreat too, no doubt starting to get drawn back to her own body. She would not wake, either, until her spirit was back, and if she was out of surgery yet, that would eventually become a concern. As such, Stephen said his temporary goodbyes to her, charged Wong with organising everyone at the Hong Kong Sanctum after the near-crisis, and returned to his own charged Sanctum in New York.

He stepped through his portal moments later, and mechanically checked over his domain, making sure all was well there. He did not, upon finishing that to his satisfaction, go to the hospital to see anybody. Not to talk to Christine or watch over the Ancient One. He would, but not just yet.

Stephen Strange felt exhausted. He stood still in the middle of the New York Sanctum, the place the Ancient One - who was only barely alive, thanks to _his_ mistake with the mirror dimension - had charged him with protecting.

Well, standing might be stretching the truth rather far. He had indeed been standing, then he'd been slumped against the wall, and now he was sitting against it, knees drawn up, resting his head on the soft folds of his cloak and not even feeling ashamed of crying.

He would pull himself together in moments. Mordo had left, the Ancient one was only half alive and he knew that he would be sorely needed in the days to come. He would be strong, lead in her stead just as he had done only hours previously, as he was the reason she could not. Not only that, but because he... it was as alien to him as magic had once been, but because he _believed_ in this.

He had believed in it enough to die for it, not only one time but many. Dying again and again painfully and with humiliatingly little to do to protect himself. He had no regrets at using this tactic, but even with all his famous pride, he was not ashamed to sob in relief and in pain. It was over, and like with any severe adrenaline reaction, its price came after it wore out. The Doctor in him took comfort in this knowledge.

His cloak had enveloped him as he'd started sobbing, overloaded by all the events of the last few hours, and he clutched at the fabric as he cried, almost afraid to let go. In responce, it curled in closer around him, where he sat on the floor, slumped against the wall.

As he finally stopped crying, the cloak slithered into place around his shoulders, the high collar wiping his cheeks free of the last of the painful, but cathargic, tears. He let it. While embarassed, he did not feel ashamed at his reaction, though he was not sure why. He did not feel alone, either, but that was not a mystery. He was not alone, he was with his best friend: the only one he truly trusted to see him this vulnerable. As he rose, slowly and almost clumsily, he whispered to it, "Thank you." For a reply, it tightened slightly around him in a protective embrace.


	5. Through the Eyes of Doctors

Stephen took great care in washing up before anything else. He had saved the world, and in the process died at least thirty times, and for a moment there he sort of looked like it, too.

With a soft sigh, he finally closed the water tap and drew a deep breath. Walking out into the Sanctum, he grasped his cloak, which had been lying over a soft piece of furniture, and helped it swing into place on his shoulders. He might have saved the world, but that was earlier in the day and he had places to be now.

He used his sling-ring to open a portal back into the supply closet he had used as a doorway before, and stepped through without a moment of hesitation, his cloak a comforting weight around his shoulders.

Back in the building he had used to know so well, he methodically started to search for Christine, finding her within moments. Her habits had really not changed much while he was gone.

"Stephen," she looked to breathe a sigh of relief at seeing him there. He nodded, silently stepping up next to her. "How is she?" "She's made it. I am glad you're here, actually - we expect her to wake up soon and we know absolutely nothing about her. Might she suffer from emotional trauma? Stephen, those looked like _battle_ wounds. Not to mention the _scars_. What is her name?"

"They were, Christine," Stephen kept his voice soft, trying to impart the truth of his words by eye contact. "And I do not know her name, I'm afraid." "But... Stephen, didn't you say you were from the _same_... cult?" Instead of arguing - again - how it was not a cult, he merely sighed. "Not exactly. Well, in a way. She was the _Master_ of my new... allegiance. My teacher. The teacher of all of us, in fact." "But you do not know her name?" Christine's voice was laced with suspicion. "I wonder if anyone really does." He replied evenly. "You just call her 'master'?" That was sarcasm, now, replacing the disbelief.

"We call her the Ancient One, actually," he corrected. At her raised eyebrow, he elaborated. "Because she's Celtic." "She's from...?" Christine had obviously not got it. "No, she's a Celt, as in, the _people_ , Celts," he guided her. "But wasn't that like... thousands of years... ago?" Her voice got slower and slower as she spoke. He just nodded, watching her eyes go large as she realised what he as really saying. "Ancient One, right?" She noted after a few seconds. He smiled.

* * *

Stephen sat at the Ancient One's bedside, listening to the beep of the machines. He had not really had time to reflect before, and now that he had, it felt strange to be back in this world. It had used to be _his_ world - people in scrubs and sterile gloves, patients and beeping machines and the smell of antiseptic in the air.

Now, his world was a teacher who had been violently stabbed by a man he'd defeated by striking a deal with a demon who had killed him dozens of times. His world was meditation, magic and martial arts. It included him not as a Neurosurgeon but as Master of a Sanctum, a mystical place charged with protecting the earth, where his best friends were a sarcastic librarian, a runaway martial arts teacher and a magical cloak. In that order. It was almost funny. Might have still been funny, in fact, if he hadn't felt so exhausted.

A slight change in the sequence of beats was his only warning, before the Ancient One was suddenly watching him. "Normal people do not heal this quickly," he berated her, sure his relief was evident in his voice.

"Normal people have Celtic ancestry, they do not remember what kinds of food the Celts used to eat," she replied evenly, voice her usual soft tones, but she did not try and sit up. "I was right," she added, "you had it in you all the while. You did not only save us, you saved me too," her smile was gracious, as well as proud. "I underrestimated you. We should be grateful Mordo saw what I did not dare to."

He grimaced at the mention of his friend. "He stayed with you," The Ancient One remarked, missing nothing. Stephen nodded. "Until the end. I rewound time, it was too much for him in the end." "He will return," she assured him, "you managed that, too."

"I know," Strange admitted, though he did not feel very accompliced at the moment, just beat. "How did you manage it?" Despite her injuries, her voice was made up of that same soft, well-measured tones he had gotten used to, taking her time and thinking clearly about things. She was clearly not talking about just Mordo any more.

"I traded with Dormammu." At her curious, encouraging look, he proceeded to tell her what he had done, not skipping any details, though he did not dwell on the different ways in which Dormammu had won. It served no purpose, he told himself.

"I really did underrestimate you," she said seriously as he finished. "Not just your ingenuity, but I gravely missed your courage. You are not kept from greatness any longer, Master Doctor Strange." "You said it," he tiredly smiled back. "I am terrified of failure."

"Yet, you willingly failed again and again, losing the battle in order to win the war. I admire your courage," she told him, her voice steady, but her blinks getting longer. "I might have injured my hands, but I proved I am still a Doctor tonight... or yesterday," he added, not sure of the time which had passed, having been though two time zones, and one outside of time since he held a scalpel to save her life. "I can see when a patient needs to rest. We can talk about the aftermath of this tomorrow." She nodded, closing her eyes. He waited by her bedside even after she fell asleep, deciding to simply stay there until Christine's shift was up.

 _As usual, I do not own the Cloak (even though I want to!) nor its associated story/sorcerer._

 _TapTap_


	6. Lay Your Heart Bare

Christine had followed Stephen back to what he called the Sanctum, rather than taking him back to hers. He looked worn, to her, but it was obvious that he was more than willing to talk, and that was enough for her.

"So, was that a mystical cult member?" Christien started with asking, watching as Stephen made them both cocoa on the stove. "Not exactly. If you insist on calling it the cult, then she is the cult leader," he reminded her of their earlier conversation. He did not blame her for not talking it all in.

"There's Kamar-Taj, her home, and three Sanctums spread throughout the earth, protecting all of us - and I do not mean that as in us Sorcerers - from mystical threats. One in Hong Kong - that was where we just fought what could have been our last battle, the London one was destroyed, and then there's this one." "This one, as in New York?" Christine asked tiredly. This was almost too much to take in. No, it _was_ too much to take in.

"No, as in where we stand. This is the Sanctum. Each Sanctum has a Master to protect it. The last Master of this Sanctum was murdered about a day ago, defending this place." Christine frowned. "Then who protects it? Is it not important? Why didn't this one fall?" "Oh, it is. The fall of London's Sanctum was a great loss. However, as it fell, a last guardian alerted Kamar-Taj, where there exists permanent portals between all four places, and I ended up here. I - well, mostly the Cloak of Levitation, if I'm honest - fought for the place, and so it still stands. So the Ancient One - that's our patient - named me the next Master of the Sanctum." He smiled tentatively at her. "Some cult, appointing a non-believer in the spiritual as a Master. But it does mean that I am here, if you need me for anything."

"It seems to me it does not matter how far you are, as long as you can make those glowy things," Christine pointed out, smiling. "We do have a lot to talk about," she conceded after a moment.

"I had hoped..." Christine noticed how Stephen sighed as he put the cups down, sliding one towards her. She also noticed that his hands trembled less just as he needed them to in order not to spill. He clearly had a lot of control of that power he used to steady them, but then he would have to, in order to make that circle-thing - not to mention whatever else she didn't know yet. She realised rather suddenly that she had thought 'yet', her subconcious clearly set on finding it out.

She did want to, she realised, as well, as she continued to listen to Stephen as he told her where he had been and what he had done there. As well as the most important of all - why. Already in the supply closet, almost kissing, she had wanted him back, and now she was more certain than she'd been before.

Stephen had changed - and almost entirely for the better - but he was still her Stephen, and she did want him back. The qualities that had made her realise once that she couldn't stay, though a big part of her heart wanted to, those were diminished so much that they no longer mattered. Sure, he was still somewhat arrogant, maybe, but perhaps he had a right to.

As he stopped talking, chocolate long finished, Christine took his hand and gently placed a kiss on his cheek. "Why don't you show me around," she asked of him softly, smiling at the relief she could sense in him at the words. So this was a Stephen who dared to care, and even more so, was not afraid to let others see it: to let _her_ see it. He really had changed.

 _I am sometimes mixing up this story and my Baby Strange one - while their key points and several characters are very different, they are far more alike than most of my stories are. I deeply hope the similar themes are not boring you who read both! Luckily this one will only have one more chapter, so it should all shortly be more easy to keep track of! :) Happy Christmas everyone!_

 _I do not own the Doctor Strange film._

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	7. Happy Ever After (Mid-Credits Scene)

_I hope you have all enjoyed this re-write of Doctor Strange, or more rightly - its ending! This scene now is, so to speak - the mid-credits scene. (Pushing the present mid-credit scene to end-of-credits, as it is great and should still be there) There is a longer, more post-the-canon-film version available on my profile, for those who want more! :)_

 _I do not own the Doctor Strange film. Or the Cloak. :(_

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There was loud clapping as Doctor Stephen Strange finished his lecture. After going through a serious car-accident during which he suffered non-curable nerve damage to those priceless hands of his, the famous Neurosurgeon had disappeared more or less overnight. Two years later, he had resurfaced as a changed man.

Standing before them now, politely bowing slightly in responce to the applause, was a man who not only had presence, intelligence and charm, qualities Doctor Stephen Strange had always possessed, but also some more subtle qualities. It seemed whatever he had done during his absence, it had granted him clarity, as well as some new sense of humility - or perhaps the accident itself had done that.

Wearing a sleek black suit, he stepped down into the waiting embrace of his wife since several years - since just after his reappearance, in fact - Christine Palmer-Strange. She still worked as a top-surgeon, unlike her husband, who was able to do what most Surgeons could not dream of, due to his high repute. He worked as a consultant only, being an expert in the field, and stepped in for two or three surgeries at most every week.

There was more than one of the distinguished guests who were still puzzled at how he could do that. His advice was much sought after and he had continued to lead research, having had a few techniques named after himself now, but though his hands seemed healed, it was possible to see how they shook lightly while holding his glass of champagne as he mingled with an arm around his wife.

The tremors did not seem to bother the world-class-surgeon, whatsoever - in fact, he did no longer seem to notice. A few others remembered the moment during his talk when he had used a laser-pointer, and how the dot had been exceptionally, completely still, held by a master-surgeon's steady hand. There might be no believeres in his audience, but there were many who felt they had to accept that whatever techniques he claimed to use actually worked for him. They tended to blame it on that he had such a superiour mind, and was so determined. Doctor Strange tended to smirk if he heard such explanations, but he never said anything to the contrary.

"Well, that went well," Christine murmured as they sat in the car, much later, on their way home. Stephen had - quickly building his fortune again with high-profile cases and lectures - splurged on another fancy car, but Christine did not let him drive it on any dangerous roads. She had a distinct feeling that he did not actually want to. He took it for a track-day every once in a while, and he never used his phone while driving. At least he had learnt that. Usually, of course, he didn't travel by car at all, and she took something more practical to work.

"Quite," Stephen had closed his eyes, running a hand across his forehead tiredly. "Sometimes I wonder at myself and what I used to enjoy with these talks. I still like to have them - but I like to share knowledge these days. I am surprised at my past character for liking all the kiss-assery. I find it rather silly nowadays." Christine snorted in responce to this insight. "Welcome to the adult world, Stephen. Took you long enough!"

It was not a very long drive until they could park next to the Sanctum, and enter into the large house. Christine especially enjoyed the space, as she had not grown up on Manhattan, and not having any rent to pay was glorious as well. And another reason they could afford most anything they wanted!

As they stepped inside, she could only follow in her husband's steps, as his first act - as ever - was to check on the twins. Their barely half-year-old little boys were sleeping soundly, and Christine watched from the doorway as Stephen checked on them and tucked them in. He was tender as a father, and attentive. They left the room hand in hand.

As they walked into the living room, the explanation for the silence was clear. At least Christine believed Stephen when he said that it was. There was a magical barrier raised, keeping the noise out from the other side, and when they passed it, Christine had to blink in surprise at the sheer racket so few people could make.

The Ancient One was sitting by the fire, playing what looked like a most advanced game of chess with Stephen's Cloak, clearly the source of the spell. By the kitchen table, Mordo - returned at last, during last fall - and Wong were arguing loudly about the right way in which to season something Christine couldn't even recognise the name of, much less pronounce - making their soon-to-be four-year-old daughter wriggle with laughter, right up until she saw her parents.

Christine did not mind that she ran to Stephen first - he and his cloak had carried her during colic, comforted during nightmares and baked an endless amount of strange cookies while she herself had been in the OR instead. She had been asked if she would be more present with the twins, but she _was_ there, only not always. While she did love her children endlessly, she was grateful that Stephen wanted to be a stay-at-home dad when he was not aiding the Ancient One in the protection of the earth, because Christine was, as much as Stephen was a protector in all forms, a Surgeon at soul and heart.

They had both found their balance, and they were happy; here with their ragtag family consisting of people born in three separate millenias, fabric that could think (and which was spectacularly good with children), martial-arts instructors who enjoyed peek-a-boo and mysterious librarians who were actually really, really easy to wrap around your fingers if you were sweet and blue-eyed and barely two years old.

It was home, and as their daughter ran over to the ancient woman by the chess-board and the men started to get ready to leave, Stephen reached out his shaking fingers to his wife, smiling. Christine smiled back as she took them gently, running her other hand across his cheekbones, allowing the Sorcerers to keep the girl and take her to Kamar-Taj with the words, "bring her back in the morning." It was hard to say who this was the most popular with - the four-year-old or the supposedly fierce honorary uncles she had acquired almost from her first breath.

Then Christine dragged her laughing husband upstairs, still touching as he never pulled away in annoyance from a caress these days, like he had done sometimes as a much younger man. She was glad she remembered to make him move the sound-barrier before they moved into their bedroom - they ended up needing it.

 _In responce to a few questions from guests on this chapter: This site's character list includes a "Mordu" as well as "E. Mordo" and I did only see this film once at the time of writing this story. I have corrected the spelling now - than you for bringing it to my attention!_

 _Another Guest found this ending a bit rushed - well, the only explanation I can give is that the half-dozen first chapters are meant as the alternative ending, and this one is an epilogue, or more literally a mid-credits-scene, so it is not meant to be entirely connected but is instead telling us what happens afterwards._

 _And finally to all the lovely reviewers on this story, Guests and otherwise, thank you so much and I am so happy than you liked my story! It means a lot._

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